I sat on the swing feeling how the tears rolled down my cheeks. There was no one left around me. They had forgotten me, on the most important day of a long year. I heard the ticking of my clock. I heard the beating of my heart. Suddenly I saw my father’s truck, the truck that had been parked at home for more than six months. I stared. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I thought it was a dream until I heard his voice, the voice I had missed for so long. He stretched his arms so I could hug him. I walked slowly towards him and wrapped my arms around his neck. I held his hand and walked to the truck with him, still not sure if it was real. I sat there and looked at him; he took a glance and took his hat off. Then it hit me. My father was alive and next to me. He had no hair and a huge scar shaped like a ¨C¨ made up of 30 stitches. I didn't know how to feel. I was happy to have him back, knowing he was fine but I had never seen him without hair, and that scar, it was so big, and black. In a way it was creeping me out.

A week later we found out my father had a stroke after five days of a terrible head ache. A friend took him to the hospital and after some exams they told him he had to leave the country immediately so he could get surgery because he had a huge chance of dying. My mom was in Panama that moment. So she had to come back as soon as possible. She got home and cried. She started packing and looking for papers with names I had never heard. She talked with the mades and with my grandmother. I clearly remember her asking, ¨Where are all Paco’s papers? ¨, ¨He was fine right? ¨

No one knew what to say or how to react because no one knew what was happening. She kept crying and asking herself
Mom: ¨Why is this happening to us? ¨

I felt so confused. I couldn’t understand what was happening but my heart was beating faster every time and I felt a knot on my throat. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. My mom came out of her room and gave me a big hug. She told me she would be back soon, as soon as my dad was fine. They left to the States for about a year for treatments and surgery. My youngest brother was no older than a year and I was about 10 or so. We were all so young, but I felt responsible for the three of them although my grandmother took care of all of us. I tried to be strong all the time but sometimes I just collapsed and broke down into tears.

Two weeks after they left my mom texted me and told me that the surgery went really well and as soon as he went back to the room she will send me a picture. Two hours later I got the picture, the worst picture I could ever get. The last time I had seen my father he was perfect, but in the photo he had white bandage all around his head. He was swollen and purple. He could barely open his eyes and was surrounded by tubes and machines. That image stayed in my head until I saw him take his hat off, that moment I realized he was here with me, and he had another chance in life.

Every time I walk by that swing an amazing amount of emotions come back to me, but then I realize how fortunate I am. For a moment I want to cry and I start questioning the reasons, why my dad? Why my family? And then it hits me: although we suffered a lot, he is fine now and he is still with us. The swing makes me realize and understand the good luck I have, it gives me hope, it gives me peace, it gives me faith and most important it helps me to be thankful.